1.
Is this a dagger which I see before me,
The handle toward my hand? Come, let me clutch thee:--
I have thee not!--and yet I see thee still!
Art thou not, fatal vision, sensible
To feeling, as to sight? or art thou but
A dagger of the mind--a false creation,
Proceeding from a heat-oppressed brain?
I see thee yet, in form as palpable
As this which now I draw!
Thou marshll'st me the way that I was going!
And such an instrument I was to use.
Mine eyes are made the fools o' the other senses,
Or else worth all the rest. I see thee still!
And on thy blade and dudgeon, gouts of blood!
_Shakespeare._
2.
_Alon._ (c.) For the last time, I have beheld the shadowed ocean close
upon the light. For the last time, through my cleft dungeon's roof, I now
behold the quivering lustre of the stars. For the last time, O Sun! (and
soon the hour) I shall behold thy rising, and thy level beams melting the
pale mists of morn to glittering dew-drops. Then comes my death, and in the
morning of my day, I fall, which--No, Alonzo, date not the life which thou
hast run by the mean reck'ning of the hours and days, which thou hast
breathed: a life spent worthily should be measured by a nobler line; by
deeds, not years.
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